London, July 2015. Among the things that signaled to me that I was beginning to recover my soul was when one scorching hot afternoon in London, while waiting at a bus stop at Oxford and Richmond, an attractive, petite, slender Asian girl in short shorts suddenly collapsed to the ground. I was right beside her as was her similarly attractive, petite, slender Caucasian friend. I immediately bent down to protect her head from hitting the sidewalk.
I leaned her up against the shelter glass. Completely legless, her legs fell open, exposing her white panties. Enjoy the mental snapshot later. I brought her knees together. The time for action was now.
The bus pulled up. I leaped into decisive action. My mind calmly stated … The bus. Air conditioned. Get her onto the bus. So, I directed all the bystanders to help me get her on the bus. With her friend’s help we manipulated her onto a seat. A stranger had grabbed my backpack and brought it to me.
We need to cool her down. She was faintly coming to. Her friend was pulling back the hair from the back of her neck. A fat mother, seated with a collapsible cooler, on her way with husband and child to a family picnic, produced some ice. She knew what needed to be done. She handed me the ice. I placed the ice on the girl’s wrist to start the cooling down process. Someone handed us paper towels. We wrapped the ice cubes in them, and now that the girl was more lucid, I told her to hold the ice wrap against her wrist while I had her friend hold her ice wrap against the back of her neck. The bus departed.
Five minutes later, she had recovered sufficiently to get off at her stop. Her friend helped her get down from the bus. The bus departed.
I nodded to the mother.